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Suitcase watched in silence as Knife picked up the eyeliner pencil, rolling it between his fingers like he was considering its weight, its power. “Guyliner,” as he called it.
Suitcase hadn’t given it much thought until now. It was just something he did—a habit, effortless and instinctive, adding to the intensity of his gaze. The dark smudge beneath his eyes, the way it accentuated his jawline, only made him much more intimidating upon first glance. It was part of his reputation, something that made him seem untouchable. She knew that much.
But there was something more to it, something she hadn’t noticed before. The way his fingers gripped the pencil with deliberate care, the focus in his eyes—it made her heart stumble in her chest.
A soft breeze stirred the curtains, and the distant hum of the party in the lobby grew louder, the beat of the music almost drowning out her thoughts.
The dynamic between them had shifted over time—once, they were just two players in the same game, never really connecting beyond the occasional alliance-talk. But now, in moments like this—here, alone at Hotel OJ, with no one but each other to rely on—it was different.
Suitcase would have been with Balloon, of course, if it weren’t for the fact that he’d been… busy. With Nickel. The thought of it made her stomach twist, but she didn’t want to think about that. Not now.
She turned her attention back to Knife, who was still messing with the eyeliner pencil, his gaze intense. He hadn’t even noticed she was staring at him.
“Suitcase?” His voice, low and almost too quiet, cut through her thoughts as he paused putting his eyeliner on. She flinched, caught off guard by the sudden sound.
“Yeah?” she muttered, a little too quickly, and then she cursed herself for sounding flustered. She wasn’t supposed to be flustered. Not around him.
“You good?” Knife asked, glancing over at her with that typical, unreadable look.
Suitcase straightened her skirt, unsure of how to answer. She didn’t want to burden him. She didn’t want to bring up anything heavy. They were here, together, and she wasn’t going to ruin it. Not over something she couldn’t control.
“Can I… do your eyeliner?” Her voice was hesitant, almost like she wasn’t sure it was even her own suggestion. It came out awkwardly, like a poorly chosen word in the middle of a tense conversation.
Knife froze. His gaze glued on her for a moment too long, as if he was searching for something in her eyes, something that wasn’t there. “Huh?”
“Eyeliner,” she repeated, her words feeling too loud in the quiet room. She glanced down at his hand, still gripping the pencil. It seemed so normal, so… intimate, in a way. “Sorry. I just… think it looks really good on you.”
There was a pause. Knife didn’t say anything at first, and Suitcase suddenly regretted speaking at all. Was he judging her? Was he confused? Her heart was racing now, her thoughts scrambling for a way to cover up the awkwardness.
Knife shrugged, tossing her the eyeliner pencil, “Do whatever.”
Suitcase’s eyes widened with an idea. She eagerly moved toward him, pressing close to the counter, but Knife gently nudged her back before she could tiptoe high enough to reach his face.
"You can sit on my lap," Knife suggested, his voice a bit strained. "Then you can reach my face easier."
Suitcase nodded, feeling a little flustered as she realized what she was doing before. Knife wasted no time as he sat down on the bed, Suitcase swung one leg over to straddle him. Knife felt her soft curves press into his body, and he tried to ignore the way his heart was hammering in his chest. He shifted slightly, adjusting to her weight and the unfamiliar intimacy of the situation.
As her hands rested over his, gently holding both the pencil and his face, he felt the heat rush to his cheeks.
Knife involuntarily pushes her off, but she sticks her hands to his shoulders, “Am I hurting you?”
He hesitates, the words caught in his throat, afraid that if he speaks too freely, he’ll reveal more than he intends. This is one of the most intimate things I’ve done in a while, and I honestly don’t know what comes next, he thinks.
No. She didn’t need to hear that.
He swallows hard, the weight of the moment pressing against his chest. "No... I mean, keep going. Sorry."
She ignores the flush creeping up his neck, focusing instead on the task at hand. Right now, she needs the distraction more than she needs to address his flustered expression. In truth, though, she can feel her own hands starting to warm, a quiet, undeniable shift inside her.
"Close your eyes," she says softly.
Knife doesn't reply. Without a word, he shuts his eyes, and in that simple gesture, all the control he'd held so tenuously slips away. Even if it was never much to begin with, it’s gone now. She holds the power—utterly, completely—over him.
Her hands tremble slightly, as she brings the eyeliner pencil closer to his face, her breathing shallow. She’s never felt this nervous about something so simple.
The tip of the pencil touches his skin, and she can feel the heat of his body through her fingertips. She starts to draw a line along his waterline, trying to keep her hand steady, but it’s difficult with the way he feels against her.
Knife feels it too—the tension in the air thickens as their bodies press closer. His breathing grows heavier, and he feels himself get a boner. He tries to ignore it, focusing on the way her fingers feel against his skin, the gentle way she traces the pencil on his waterline. But the sensation is undeniable, growing with every stroke of the eyeliner.
Suitcase notices the shift in his posture, the way he seems to hold his breath when she's closer to his face. She's not naive; she's seen the way guys react to intimate situations before. She tries to keep her own feelings in check, not wanting to misread the situation, but her heart can't help but race a little faster.
As she leans in to get a better angle, her hips inadvertently grind against his erection. Knife's eyes shoot open, a gasp escaping his lips. He looks up at her, surprised, and she freezes, the eyeliner pencil hovering just above his eye.
"I'm sorry," she says, her voice low and apologetic, but there's a hint of something else in her eyes—desire.
Knife's eyes darken, and he grabs her waist, pulling her closer, his erection now grinding against her, unmistakable through the fabric of his pants. "Don't stop," he whispers, his voice hoarse with need.
Suitcase’s pulse skyrockets, and she drops the eyeliner pencil onto the bedside table, her hands moving to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. She leans in, her breath hot against his ear, and whispers, "Are you sure?"
Knife nods, his voice thick with lust. "Yes," he says, his hands sliding up her thighs, under her skirt. He squeezes her hips, urging her to move closer.
But then, reality hits Suitcase. She pulls back slightly, her eyes searching his. "What if someone hears us?" she asks, a hint of concern in her voice.
Knife groans, his grip on her hips tightening. "They're all too busy partying," he whispers, his breath hot on her neck. "Let's just enjoy this, okay?"
Suitcase nods, her eyes closing as she leans into him again. This time, she grinds against him with purpose, feeling the length of him against her, growing harder by the second. His hands move up to her breasts, squeezing gently through the fabric of her shirt, and she can't help but let out a soft moan.
The room is filled with the sound of their ragged breaths and the faint throb of music from the party below. Knife whispers sweet nothings into her ear, his voice a dark, seductive purr that sends shivers down her spine.
Her movements become more urgent, hips rolling faster as she tries to get closer to him, to feel more of him. And then, she hears it—his voice, gruff and filled with need, praising her as she grinds faster against him. "Fuck, you feel so good," he murmurs, his grip on her hips tightening, his nails digging into her skin just enough to make her gasp.
Knife tries to match her movements, thrusting up to meet her as she moves down, his erection straining against the fabric of his pants. He can feel the wetness of his pre-cum through the material, and it only makes him want her more. He reaches up, his hands sliding up her back to grip her shoulders, guiding her movements, urging her on.
Suitcase feels herself getting closer, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she grinds down onto him. "Knife," she whines, "I'm so close."
Her voice is desperate, a plea that sends a jolt of arousal through Knife. He responds by kissing her neck, sucking gently on her skin, leaving a mark that she knows she'll have to explain later. His hands are everywhere, caressing her body, pulling her closer, pushing her away just to feel the delicious friction again.
"Hold on," Knife murmurs, his voice thick with desire. He gently lifts her off his lap, and she's about to protest until she feels his hands sliding down her body, under her skirt, and finally reaching the wet heat between her legs.
Her eyes widen as he rubs her through her panties, his touch sending shockwaves through her. She gasps, her legs trembling, and he looks up at her with a knowing smile, his eyes dark with need. "You're so wet," he whispers, his fingers circling her clit, the fabric of her underwear soaked with her desire.
"P-please," Suitcase stutters, her eyes half-closed with pleasure. "Keep going. It feels so good."
Knife doesn’t need any further encouragement. He slips a finger under the fabric of her panties, and the wetness there makes him groan. He slides it along her folds, finding her clit and pressing down firmly. She gasps, her hands clutching his shoulders as he works her closer to the edge.
He watches her face, the way her eyes roll back, the way she bites her bottom lip to keep from crying out. He’s seen this look before, but never on Suitcase. It’s like watching a different person, someone he’s never met before—someone who’s letting go of all their inhibitions, just for him.
And then it happens—Suitcase’s body tenses, and she cums, her juices coating his fingers. The feeling is like nothing he’s ever experienced before, and Knife’s own arousal spikes to a whole new level. He can’t help but let out a low growl of satisfaction, his cock straining painfully against his zipper.
Suitcase pants heavily, leaning against him for support as the waves of pleasure recede. Knife pulls his hand away, looking up at her with a concerned expression. He checks if she’s okay, his heart racing with the sudden intensity of the moment.
Her eyes flutter open, and she gives him a weak smile. "I'm fine," she breathes, still trying to catch her breath. "Better than fine."
But Knife isn't satisfied. He can feel his own need, pulsing and demanding release. And seeing her like this, so vulnerable and open, it's driving him wild. He stands up, pulling her with him, and they kiss, their bodies pressed together.
Suitcase notices the tension in Knife's pants, the way he's still so hard. She breaks away from the kiss, looking down at the obvious bulge. "You haven't... " she whispers, trailing off as she looks up at him, a question in her eyes.
Knife's cheeks burn, and he avoids her gaze, a hint of embarrassment flickering in his eyes. "Not yet," he admits, his voice gruff. "But I'm close."
Suitcase's eyes widen, and she feels a thrill run through her. She reaches out, her hand sliding down to palm his erection through his pants. Knife gasps, his hips jerking forward into her touch. He’s so big, so hard—it’s all she can do not to drop to her knees right then and there.
Her touch is gentle at first, exploratory. She squeezes him, feeling the heat and the hardness of him beneath the fabric. Knife’s eyes roll back in his head, his breathing turning into harsh pants as she strokes him through his pants.
He tries to keep his composure, but it’s no use. With a groan, he comes in his pants, the warmth spreading through the material. Suitcase’s hand sticks to his shaft as the last tremors of his orgasm leave him, and she looks up at him with a smug smile.
Knife grumbles under his breath, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Fuck," he says, his voice thick with annoyance. "My pants are all messed up now."
Suitcase laughs, the sound light and free, and it’s like nothing has ever felt more beautiful to him. She slides off his lap, her skirt fluttering around her thighs as she stands. "You're such a baby," she teases, bending down to kiss him gently. "Let me help."
Her hands move to the front of his pants, and she starts to unbuckle his belt. Knife's breath catches in his throat, watching her, unable to believe this is happening. "Suitcase," he starts, but she puts a finger to his lips.
"Let me take care of you," she whispers, and with trembling hands, she unbuttons his pants. He helps her, pushing them down, and his erection springs free, bobbing in the cool air of the hotel room.
Suitcase takes it in her hand, feeling the warmth and the pulse of his need. She squeezes gently, watching his face for any signs of pain or discomfort. Knife's eyes are squeezed shut, his teeth gritted. "Keep doing that," he whispers, his voice strained.
Her hand moves up and down his length, stroking him with a confidence she didn’t know she had. The room is filled with the sound of their breaths and the slickness of her hand on his skin. Knife's hips begin to move, thrusting up to meet her strokes.
Suitcase's eyes never leave his face, watching his expression closely. She's fascinated by the way his eyes squint with pleasure, the way his mouth opens slightly as he breathes through his teeth.
"And here I thought you were shy," Knife teases, his voice a low rumble.
Suitcase giggles, feeling a thrill of power surge through her as she continues to stroke him. "I can be surprising," she says, her voice playful.
Without another word, she leans in, her lips parting, and takes the head of his cock in her mouth. Knife’s eyes fly open, watching as she works her mouth over him, taking him in as much as she can. He groans, his hands moving to her hair, threading through the strands as he guides her rhythm.
But it's not enough—his length is too much for her to handle all at once. She tries, eager to please, but she chokes, her eyes watering as she gags around his cock. Knife's hand tightens in her hair, his body tensing, and she pulls back with a cough, looking up at him with an apologetic smile. "Sorry," she says, her cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment.
Knife chuckles, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Most people don't go straight to deep-throating, Suitcase," he says, his voice teasing. "But if you want, I can teach you."
Suitcase's blush deepens, but she nods, eager to learn. Knife gently guides her back down, his cock still wet with her saliva. She takes it in her mouth again, this time more cautiously, her tongue flicking out to taste him. Knife's breath hisses through his teeth, and his hands tighten in her hair as she finds a rhythm that works for them both.
Her cheeks hollow as she takes him in, her eyes never leaving his. She feels a strange sense of intimacy, a connection she’s never experienced with anyone else. Knife’s eyes are dark with need, his jaw clenched as she pleasures him.
“Fuck, Suitcase,” he murmurs, his hips bucking slightly. She tries to take more of him, eager to make him feel as good as he’s made her feel. Her teeth graze his skin, and he lets out a strangled sound, his hands tightening in her hair.
Suitcase's eyes water as she tries to deep-throat him, but she's determined. She feels him swell in her mouth, and she knows he's close. Knife's breathing becomes erratic, his eyes squeezed shut. "You're going to make me cum," he warns, his voice strained.
Her response is muffled around his cock, but she nods eagerly, her hands reaching down to cup his balls. She feels them tighten in her grip, and she knows she's hit the spot. Knife's hips jerk, and he lets out a guttural groan as he cums in her mouth. She swallows, her eyes never leaving his, watching as he rides out the last waves of his orgasm.
When it's over, she pulls back, licking her lips, a smear of cum on her chin. Knife reaches out, his thumb wiping it away gently. " Good job ," he whispers, his voice hoarse.
The room is silent, except for their ragged breathing. Suitcase can't believe what just happened—how she'd taken charge, how Knife had let her. It felt like a moment of power, a moment of understanding that she hadn’t felt before.
Knife opens his eyes, his gaze meeting hers. There's something different in his eyes—a softness that she's never seen before. It sends a jolt of electricity through her, and she can't help but lean in for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips. He kisses her back, his hands moving to cradle her face, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones.
The kiss is slow and tender, a stark contrast to the raw passion of moments before. Suitcase melts into it, feeling the weight of the world lift off her shoulders. For a moment, it's just the two of them, lost in the feeling of skin on skin, of breath mingling together.
They break apart, both breathing heavily, and Knife’s gaze lingers on her, something new flickering in his eyes. It's a look she can't quite place, but it sends a thrill of excitement down her spine. "What?" she asks, her voice small and unsure.
He smiles, a real smile, not the cocky grin he usually wears. "Nothing," he says, standing up and pulling her to her feet. He wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly. "Everything," he whispers into her hair.
They stand there for a moment, just holding each other, the tension from their encounter still palpable. Suitcase feels his heart beating against her chest, matching the frantic rhythm of her own. Knife’s hand slides down her back, resting on the curve of her ass, and she presses into him, enjoying the feel of his nakedness against her.
"We should get dressed," Knife murmurs after a moment, his voice still thick with desire. "Before someone comes looking for us."
Suitcase nods, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace. She looks down at her rumpled clothing, the evidence of their passionate encounter scattered around the room—the discarded eyeliner pencil, her skirt riding up, his pants around his ankles.
They both move to clean themselves up, a silent agreement passing between them. Knife's gaze lingers on her as she straightens her skirt, and she catches it, feeling a warm blush spread across her cheeks. She quickly looks away, fumbling with the buttons of her shirt.
The moment feels charged, like the calm before a storm, and she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Knife picks up his pants, tugging them back on with a sigh. "We should get back to the party,"